


Gift

by ponderinfrustration



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: Christmas, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 11:40:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13145919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponderinfrustration/pseuds/ponderinfrustration
Summary: Christmas is coming and Christine feels she should get a gift for the Angel of Music.





	Gift

Is it blasphemous to want to give an angel a gift? Even just as a thank you? She’s not certain it’s the sort of a theological question that priests usually get confronted with, and if she asked one she’s not certain she’d get any sort of a proper reply _. Hello, Father. No, I have not sinned, that I know of. But I’ve been taking lessons from the Angel of Music and—yes, Father, the Angel of Music. No, I feel quite well._ Oh, yes, she can only picture such a scene going _splendidly_.

But it’s Christmas, or will be Christmas. And if she can’t thank the Angel at Christmas, then when can she?

Yes. She absolutely must find some sort of gift for the Angel. But what?

She could knit a scarf, but the general consensus is that angels are not quite corporeal. In which case gloves or a nice hat are both very much out of the question. She could get the Angel a book, but surely an angel already knows the contents of the world’s books. She could write a poem, but she has never been any sort of a poet. About all she can really do is sing. And the Angel has already heard her sing. Has heard her sing altogether too many times, in fact, and if she sang carols or hymns for the Angel at Christmas, surely the Angel would only point out every flaw in her voice and not truly appreciate it.

(Perhaps it is blasphemous to think of an Angel not appreciating a gift, but it is certainly true in this case.)

She could draw something. She’s not very going at sketching, but she is good enough. A scene of Sweden, perhaps. Of the trees in the snow, or the trolls in the stories her Papa used to tell her. Actually, probably best to leave out the trolls. But the mountains, and the trees and the snow. That she can do.

(Little does she know, that in months to come when she finds herself deep beneath the opera not in the company of an angel but a man named Erik, that that simple Swedish landscape sketch would have pride of place over the mantle.)


End file.
